


your innocence is mine

by sanzuh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, just some post-resurrection effects though, show verse, teensy tiny bit of dark Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh
Summary: He takes her hand and stills it, keeping it pressed to the scar over his dead heart. "Nothing’s wrong with you, sweetheart. You’ve just been hurt so badly. And you’re so desperate for--love, he wants to say, but he won’t, so he lets the thought trail off, leaving it for her to guess or answer whatever it is she's craving so fiercely--but I’m not the answer you’re looking for."
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 80
Collections: Jonsa Autumn Drabbles 2020





	your innocence is mine

**Author's Note:**

> Jonsa Dungeons and Drabbles Day 5: _Firelight_
> 
> Title from Muse's _Undiclosed Desires_.

Sansa is so soft and pliant in his arms, sighing his name and running her fingers through his curls as she presses her body closer to his, her lips searching hungrily for more kisses. They're lying on the furs in front of the hearth and the firelight is bathing her in a glow that makes her look like she could only exist in a dream or perhaps in one of the songs she used to love. He's not a knight or a prince though. He could never be a hero from the songs. 

"Sansa," he warns her, his voice rough as he frames her face between his hands. He gulps at the way she's looking at him, so soft and defenseless, so utterly irresistible. "We shouldn’t," he tells her. "This is wrong."

She smiles and shakes her head, her hands sliding down his neck to rest over his collarbones. "No, what other men have done to me, that was wrong. This," she insists, pausing briefly to press her lips to his, " _you_ could never be wrong. You’re all I have in this world, and you feel right."

It's a declaration that could bring him to tears, though he thought he'd forgotten how to weep after he'd come back from the dead. He releases her face and rolls away from her, letting the heat of the fire lick at his skin.

"I _am_ wrong," he whispers. "I’m a lustful bastard, I shouldn’t even be alive. I…" He's not sure what else to tell her. Can't she see it? How could he not be wrong wanting this and even worse, acting on it?

She props herself up on one elbow and looks down at him, running one finger down his sternum. "So, what is my excuse then?" she asks defiantly. "What’s wrong with _me_?"

He takes her hand and stills it, keeping it clasped to the ugly scar over his dead heart. "Nothing’s wrong with you, sweetheart. You’ve just been hurt so badly. And you’re so desperate for-- _love,_ he wants to say, but he won’t, so he lets the thought trail off, leaving it for her to guess or answer whatever it is she's craving so fiercely--but I’m not the answer you’re looking for."

She pulls her hand away from his and pushes herself up to swing a leg over his hips to straddle him. He groans and tries to tear his eyes away from her, but he's mesmerized by the sight of her on top of him, her hair flared out around her face, shining like copper, her tempting heat seeping trough the fabric of his breeches where it's stretched over his hardening cock.

"I think you are," she tells him, leaning down to kiss the scar over his heart, her soft, lemon-and-lavender hair falling over his chest and face. She takes his hands and places them over her tits. He jerks upright, tugging her flush against him as her mouth finds his to pull him into another kiss. He can't help it. His hands are everywhere, and she allows them to be there. Her little gasps and cries encourage him, as does the way she keeps sighing his name. 

She responds eagerly to every touch and kiss, and soon she's writhing in his lap, hungry for more, but he won't give her that. He won't do anything he's sure she'll come to regret later, but he's painfully hard now, and it's all becoming too much for him. As gently as he can, he pushes her away, until she's lying on her back again.

He rolls away from her, panting and trying to steady himself before he looks at her again and she can see the vile, hungry beast in his eyes. Too soon, her hand is on his upper arm.

"What's wrong?" she asks him, her voice tiny and fragile. "Was it something I did?"

 _Gods,_ why must she torture him like this? He inhales, once, twice, and turns around again, cupping her cheek and brushing a strand of hair away from her face. 

"You did nothing wrong, sweetheart, but there’s only so much a man can take," he explains to her.

She flinches and her body goes rigid as her breath hitches.

He strokes her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, trying to soothe her, softly hushing and humming until she allows him to cradle her against his chest. "I would never hurt you," he promises her through the lump in his throat, pressing his lips to her hair, "or do anything you don’t want me to. I just meant, it can get painful for a man."

She pulls away to look at him, her lips parted and a deep crease between her eyebrows. She shakes her head and whispers: "I don't understand," but then she reaches down to palm him through his breeches. She cups him and rubs him, her eyes wide and innocent as she asks him: “Is this painful?”

His head lolls back as his eyes flutter closed, a groan escaping from his throat. _Others take him._ If she keeps touching him like that, he is going to cross that line. 


End file.
